Wrath
by jadefervidus
Summary: Part 2 of 'Seven Deadly Sins' series. Chase takes away Pogue's reasons for living. He won't let him get away with it. CD/PP/RG/TS, slash, torture. Heavy M rating.


**Wrath  
**by  
Jade Fervidus

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**Rating:** M  
**Pairing/s: **Caleb/Pogue/Reid/Tyler  
**Genre: **Family/Angst  
**Fandom:** The Covenant

**Warnings:** Slash; _graphic_ torture; character death; swearing; very mature situations; male pregnancy.** *Please note that all spelling mistakes are intentional for the effect of an accent and/or colloquialism.***

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**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Covenant, its characters or settings: Renny Harlin and Screen Gems do. I just like using them for my own tales.

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**Wrath**

**1. **Strong, stern, or fierce anger; deeply resentful indignation; ire.

**2. **Vengeance or punishment, as the consequence of anger.

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Pogue stared down at the massacre of bodies that littered the ground before him. He heard the astonished and furious intakes of breath of Tyler's, Reid's and his own father as they thundered in after him. The metallic stench of blood and the acrid scent of fire and smoked smothered the air, making it hard to breath. The blond biker surveyed the room with fear, knowing what he would find but unable not to look.

Reid was closest to him, no more than three feet away, lying in a pool of blood. He was completely naked, face and body torn to shreds. The flesh that remained was covered in black and purple bruises, and the deep red of his coagulating blood. His once bright and clean blond hair was matted with dirt and his ice blue eyes stared lifelessly at the opposing wall. Resisting the urge to gag, Pogue turned to the wall of his younger brother's gaze. Tyler was hanging from a pipe nearby, a noose of rope secured tightly around his throat. The youngest's neck was bent at an odd angle, as were his left arm and leg, leaving no doubt that they were broken. His limbs dangled limply, face obscured because it was turned down against the floor, but a small puddle of blood was directly beneath him. Feeling the blackness of numb shock seep through every pore in his body, he slowly dragged his haunted hazel eyes over to the empty chocolate of his best friend and older brother. Bruises of black through to yellow littered his face and bare torso, accompanied by cuts and grazes. A trickle of blood had travelled from his nose to his lips, running over the dry cracks to dry at the tip of his chin. The shining hilt of a ceremonial dagger protruded from his stomach, crossguards glittering with brightly coloured gems. His blood had formed a thick trail from the wound to the waistline of his jeans.

Pogue closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his mouth, feeling the comforting blanket of numbness become a fiery pain of red hot anger. A hurricane of emotion whirled through his chest and into his very soul; fury, anger and a thirst for blood and vengeance being the most prominent. Acid hatred burned his throat for the man who had dared to anger him, to lay his filthy murderous hands on the men he loved and who had the nerve to steal the lives of said men. Thick black clouds of Power swirled around his mind in anticipation of the violence that was to erupt. The blond felt the heat of his anger and rage fly from his chest, up his throat and into his face as his vision turned red.

_Chase would pay._

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Pogue lounged in his wooden chair, grinning darkly in satisfaction. The Power hummed in the air around him, ready to lash out at whatever or whoever got in the hell-bent blond's way. Chase's screams of pain sunk into his captor's brain like a lullaby, pressing him to increase the torture. Suddenly he stood, walking over to the other occupied chair by the wall, bending down to stare Chase in the eye.

Chase was breathing deeply to keep his pain in check, the needles and spikes of the Judas chair piercing his flesh. Blood was dripping steadily from hundreds of his wounds, while the older ones had begun to heal themselves around the metal. He was completely naked, staring up into the murderous black eyes of his captor defiantly but not saying a word.

"You tore my family apart," hissed Pogue menacingly, his nose almost touching Chase's. The Power egged him on, like the soft caresses of a lover as she fanned his smouldering anger to towering flames. "You put your hands on the men I loved. You _murdered_ the fathers of my sons. You _dared_ to come back into my town and kill my lovers and destroy the remaining bloodlines. You _will not _walk away this time, Chase." His body shook with repressed rage as his mind fought an internal battle over whether to murder the brunette brutally but quickly, or slowly and painfully.

Chase had stayed silent during the younger's tirade, but grinned in defiance once again when he noticed the battle going on behind the black eyes. "I bet you didn't find the little gift in Caleb's stomach, did you, pretty boy?"

Pogue's black eyes narrowed into slits as he slammed his hands down on the spiked bars above the elder's arms. Chase let out a bloodcurdling scream of pain as the combination of the spikes and the force behind the movement caused the bones of his forearms to shatter. Pogue felt the soft back pat from the Power as she giggled with happiness. "_What_ did you say?"

The brunette was breathing raggedly, trying to cope with the pain. Still, he smirked and stared boldly into the eyes boring into his. "Why, the baby, of course. Why do you think I left Caleb until last? Why do you think he was the only one with a dagger in his gut?" he spat venomously. "He was pregnant with another abomination; another of your disgusting little brats. Luckily for him, I put the miniature bastard out of his misery."

Pogue saw red and backhanded Chase across the jaw, feeling his teeth grind and crack with dark satisfaction: nobody spoke about his lovers or his children that way and went without punishment. He refused to think of the child he had lost, unwilling to let his paternal instincts mourn and become distracted. "You shut your fuckin' mouth," he hissed as Chase spat a mouthful of blood and teeth on the rough stone beside his feet.

"Why the fuck should I, you sorry son of a bitch?" Chase hissed spitefully, stupidly riling Pogue further. "What is your faggot ass going to do?"

The blond surged forward - propelled by the hissing Power - grabbing a handful of Chase's hair and tugged it backwards, ignoring the cuts caused by the spikes. "You shut the fuck up before I rip your hair out, you murdering coward."

"I always knew you were a hair puller, Parry," gasped Chase, finding it difficult to breathe from the pressure of the awkward angle of his neck combined with blood still pouring in his mouth.

Without saying a word, Pogue called to the Power for support before pulling viciously on his captive's hair, removing a handful of the dark strands. All of them were still attached to his skin, blood dripping from the removed appendage obscenely. "I said 'shut your fuckin' mouth'," Pogue said calmly over Chase's screams of pain, examining his hand with disinterest after throwing the clump of skin, hair and blood to the side.

Chase whimpered as blinding pain shot through his whole body, looking up into Pogue's soulless eyes. He knew that those endless depths were what resided in his own eyes. An unsettling recognition accompanied by a sense of hopelessness settled over his throbbing mind: he was going to die.

Pogue continued to survey his hands, knowing that the Power Chase was trying to call would not aid him; she was on his side. She was busy caressing and loving his anger and fury, in love with the way he used her. He knew that he was ageing years because of her, yet he couldn't bring himself to care. The Power hummed in agreement as she scratched his mind, trying to coax him into bringing the murderer before him more pain. "The Power won't help you now," he told Chase calmly, looking into the dark eyes that reminded him so much of Caleb's dead ones, "she's on my side. She loves the pain I'm going to bring you." He turned and strode over to the left wall, placing his palm on the wall. It recognised him as a member of the Covenant and a black door materialised, swinging open with a soft creak.

Inside laid an array of weapons, many dating back to the days of the Salem Witch Trials; jewel-encrusted swords and daggers; lengths of rope and chain; whips; floggers; cuffs; nails; leather straps, and huge, blood covered stones. It also held less dangerous items, including, parchment, quills and pots of multi-coloured ink. The Book of Damnation rested on a nearby shelf, beside a black sword covered with pearls. Ignoring the fear and pain rolling in waves from Chase, Pogue quietly selected a diamond dagger with handle of pure gold, a length of rope and the largest stone he could see. His eyes flashed with a ring of fire and the three objects began to float across the room, hovering just beyond Chase's reach as they waited for their master to join them. Pogue followed them with an eerie grace, looking as if he was floating along the floor himself. As he returned to his previous position, the rope and dagger fell to the floor with a soft clatter, the stone still hovering with a quiet hum of Power.

Pogue flicked his left index finger almost indistinguishably, sending the heavy stone into Chase's knees, smiling at the satisfying groan of bone against bone as the elder's knee dislocated. The fire reappeared in his eyes, a quill, a pot of ink and the Book of Damnation shooting out of the still-open door to rest on the small table that had materialised beside the blond. He murmured a quick Latin phrase: the ink pot's cork popped itself out, landing on the table beside the utensils, before the quill dunked itself in the black liquid and the Book of Damnation's pages fluttered until it found a blank sheet at the back. "Now," Pogue sighed, sinking down to his knees, balancing on the balls of his feet, staring up at Chase, "you are going to tell me everything, and the Book will record it."

Chase looked down at Pogue with a frown, willing to ignore the hot pain coursing through his beaten and battened form. "Fuck you," he spat.

Pogue willed himself to remain calm and suppressed the furious fist of the Power, who wished for nothing more than to deal the last blow he would ever feel. _No, _he told her mentally, _we need to draw this out. We need to do it for Caleb, Reid and for Tyler. _"You heard me, you sniveling waste of space. Now start fuckin' talkin'." His eyes flashed with fire for the third time.

Chase felt the tingle of the Power slip over his brain, finally numbing his physical agony. "Once Tweedledee, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber had figured out I was back, they came looking for me. Now, Tweedledum figured that I'd be at Putnam barn, considering that's where our last showdown was. Only he didn't know that I knew about the nifty little niche underneath it." He felt lightheaded and buzzed, knowing immediately that the Power was drawing his confession from him. He absentmindedly turned his head to the side, seeing that the quill was rapidly speeding along the sheet, documenting every word he said.

"Go on," motioned Pogue, summoning his chair and sinking into it.

"I got Tweedledee first; he stepped straight over the grate," Chase reminisced, not missing Pogue's furious glare. "I spelled him against the wall and, as per usual, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber braved all and hastened to his rescue. All that got them was a boulder in Tweedledumber's legs and another in Tweedledum's chest," he snickered.

"Anyway, I killed Tyler first. I didn't want him to suffer much; he was always the nicest and most considerate of your fucked-up foursome. His only crime was giving birth to your abominations. So I beat him up for a bit, immensely enjoying Tweedledum and Tweedledumber's pleading for me to stop hurting their baby boy. I strung 'im up from the rafter and snapped his neck. He was dead in under five seconds.

"Then came Reid," he spat the name out as if it were something disgusting. "That fucker kept mouthin' off, so I gave him some good old-fashioned, Salem Witch Trial punishment; I stoned that fucker to death after I beat him to a pulp with a shovel."

Pogue repressed the red haze at the edge of his vision and forced himself to stay still.

"And then came Caleb," sighed Chase, absentmindedly swiping at a trickle of blood that had begun to seep its way down his forehead from the wound on his head. "He kept pleading with me not to hurt him, because he was pregnant," he spat, "like he didn't know that I was only going to kill him faster after that little… tidbit. So I roughed him up a little and shoved a dagger through his gut, making sure I killed the little fucker in him."

The Book slammed shut, startling Chase, who felt the soothing numbness over his brain recede and the white hot pain return. Pogue stood, knowing that Chase had no more to offer. His tolerance was at the end of its long stretch.

He bent down to grab the rope, before calling the Power to him and securing Chase tightly to the chair with it, forcing the needles deeper into his body, ignoring the groans of pain. He clicked his fingers to summon the dagger, snapping them again as the blade carved into the soft flesh of his chest. Shining droplets of blood fell down his stomach. He then summoned the stone, cursing to repeatedly throw itself at different areas of the elder's body until the majority of his bones were broken and Chase was too close to dead to scream anymore. He then firmly grasped the hilt of the dagger in his hand, before shoving it deeply into Chase's heart. He gurgled for a moment before he fell silent.

Pogue turned and left the room without another word.

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_Caleb William Danvers_

_Beloved husband, son, brother and father_

_October 12, 1988 - October 12, 2016_

Pogue felt his heart tear he stared at the engraved gold cursive. Fat, rolling rain droplets glistened on the black granite, reflecting the paler specks within the stone. Bouquets of lilies, roses and daisies littered the fresh grave, creating a stark contrast between the yellow of the flowers and the dark brown of the soil. A tear slid down the man's cheek as he realised the hidden significance.

It was happiness. The yellow flowers alluded to Caleb's optimism and enlightenment, creativity and energy: his unparalleled ability to always be happy, even when his brooding looks said otherwise, his eccentric ideas and motivations that always made his parents and friends smile, and the way the brunette could always see the lighter side of any situation.

Caleb was Pogue's closest friend, his brother and his lover. He had always been there for the younger man, from the time Pogue and fallen and scraped his knee when they were two until the day he had died. Any dark, desperate situation always seemed less severe after talking to the oldest Covenant son; it was a unique ability possessed by none but him. Pogue was continuously amazed by Caleb's tendency to keep a level head whenever Reid pressed his buttons, always knowing that the younger blond was aimlessly trying to rival their oldest lover. His heart warmed whenever he thought of Caleb and Tyler bonding over studying or their similar home lives: the oldest's alcoholic mother and his deceased father, and the youngest's drug-dependent mother and her abusive second husband.

Pogue felt his throat become uncomfortably tight as he blinked away his tears, turning to the second of the three fresh lots in front of him. A vain effort, as the salty droplets welled up once more as the silvery script came into view.

_Reid Alexander Garwin_

_Beloved husband, son, brother and father_

_April 1, 1988 - October 12, 2016_

The second youngest's intricately carved gravestone was green marble, untouched by anything other than the silver cursive and the soft, red petals of daylilies, roses and orchids. Pogue would've laughter at the irony of the flowers if he had the will to do so. Red symbolised fire, anger and aggression, but it also embodied power, lust, passion and love. No colour described his late blond brother better than the mixture of orange and yellow.

Reid was a fiery, passionate person by nature, Pogue reminisced. He never did anything inadequately; he did everything with passion and to the best of his ability. If anyone he loved was endangered, he would turn into a dangerous, aggressive person who wouldn't stop until the threat was obliterated.

_A talent that got him killed, _thought Pogue to himself miserably.

But when it came to the opposite end of the spectrum, he was the most powerful and adoring of all his lovers. Reid's attentiveness and devotion ensured that he would never forget a birthday, anniversary, special occasion or one-off occurrence. Contrary to what Pogue thought when they were teenagers, the younger blond was the most reliable of his three lovers. It surprised him to no end.

This thought caused Pogue to look back over to his oldest lover's grave, feeling the dull ache thud within his chest. Staring listlessly into the yellow flowers, his subconscious found another link between his brothers: yellow was a foundation of red. That revelation made the remaining Son's throat clog with grief, for Caleb was most certainly a main part of Reid.

Mind full with memories that supported his revelation true, Pogue turned towards the last grave with a heavy heart.

_Tyler Nicholas Simms_

_Dearly cherished husband, son, brother and father_

_June 17, 1989 - October 12, 2016_

The black marble streaked with grey and white headstone was shrouded with an abundance of white roses, lilies and carnations; specifically handpicked by Tyler's distraught mother. Pogue had originally snorted in disbelief and shaken his head when he had heard about Rosalind Simms being so specific about her son's floral funeral arrangements when she hadn't given a second thought to him when he was alive, but he had let it go once he realised how fitting the white flowers were.

With roses, lilies and carnation seen as formal mourning flowers and white symbolising innocence and purity, there was no better combination to describe his youngest brother. Ever since they were young, Tyler had somehow managed to retain his childlike innocence. It had been a refreshing trait, managing to pull Pogue away from the horrifying but repetitive necessities of his life as a police officer. After dealing with the degradation of his professional life, Pogue loved returning home to his youngest lover for a glimpse into the past; a simpler and happier time.

Pogue's teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he began to cry, the previous escaping tears now a downpour. He cried for the lives that had been lost, for the brothers and lovers he would never see, touch, hear, feel or taste again. He cried for the children that would never know their fathers. He cried for the parents who had lost their son, and for the town who had lost three of their four most influential people.

"Daddy Pogue?" A child's voice, soft with trepidation, called as a small hand tugged on the edge of his suit jacket.

The man coughed slightly, scrubbing the tears from his face in attempt to regain his composure. Hoping he looked presentable, Pogue smiled sadly down at his son. "Hey, Riley," he greeted softly, tousling the mop of black hair.

Riley swatted his father's hand away, looking much older than his four years. "Are you crying because you miss my daddies?"

The man cleared his throat, wondering how his son could be so intuitive for his age. "Yeah, I am, buddy. Do you miss them?"

Little Riley nodded, his chocolate eyes shining. "I do. But I know they loves me and they'll be taking care of me and you froms the skies."

"I know they will," Pogue agreed quietly, feeling another tug on his opposite side. He looked down at his other son, Jared. "Hey, Jay."

"Talks to thems, daddy," Jared said simply. His light brown hair ruffling in the wind and ice blue eyes reminded Pogue of Tyler, making his chest ache.

"Okay, buddy," Pogue sighed, grabbing one of both of his son's hands in both of his own. He heaved a sigh, wondering where to start. "I'm sorry, guys. I can't believe that you're really gone. It's not the same anymore: the house is always cold in the morning, the stairs echo now. I actually get to shower in hot water now," he chuckled wetly. "I'm not coping. You three haven't even been gone a week and I've already run myself into the ground: I haven't been eating, or sleeping. The only thing that keeps me going is Riley and Jared. Without them, I probably would've eaten my gun by now." Pogue stopped to smile slightly at the mental image of Tyler berating him for mentioning suicide in the presence of their children. "I'll never forget you, guys. You've been my family, support group, friends and lovers for so long that it's engraved in my blood. I love you guys so much." He released his sons' hands and stepped forward to press a kiss to the top of each headstone. He stepped back, returning to his position between his children.

Before Pogue could say anything, Jared began to talk. "Hi, my daddies! I know you're up in the sky now and I wants yous to know that I love you lots and lots and lots and lots. Please keeps me and Riley and daddy safes."

"Yeah," piped in Riley. "We misses yous stories and pictures. We misses Daddy Tyler's waffles and Daddy Reid's kisses and Daddy Caleb's tickle fights. I loves you."

Together, the two young boys walked forward and mimicked their father, pressing their little lips against each headstone, as well as hugging them. Pogue, struck dumb, simply placed his hands on his boys' shoulders and steered them out of the cemetery. As they went, he swore he felt three distinct pairs of eyes smiling down upon them.

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**Author****'****s note: **Wow… angsty. Torture and meaningful situations are not my usually occurrence, so please let me know what you thought. :) Thanks so much for taking the time to read!

*All dictionary meanings are taken from Macquarie Concise Dictionary, Fourth Edition, ISBN 1-876429-58-5. Meanings of _wrath _on page 1421.


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